


Paradise Found

by Alice5360



Category: The Laundry Files - Charles Stross
Genre: Boarding School, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice5360/pseuds/Alice5360
Summary: As described in "The Fuller Memorandum," when F met TEAPOT again at the end of his stint teaching school, he described TEAPOT as "unrecognizable." What happened to transform the Eater of Souls into our favorite scary Laundry bureaucrat? I thought I'd have a shot at finding out.





	1. Year One

_England, 1930_

 

It was the last week of the long vacation. The headmaster of Sherborne was waiting in the great hall, somewhat edgily, for the arrival of a new member of the faculty – someone he had not hired himself. Two days previously a member of the school’s Board of Trustees had informed him that it was imperative that a place be found at the school for a new mathematics professor.

“He needs to recuperate in a quiet environment, Mr. Williamson,” the trustee had said vaguely. “Just to get him accustomed to social surroundings again. He’ll benefit from the routine. And he’s very good at maths.”

“This is unheard of. You expect me to hire him without an interview, you can’t give me any information about this man? What is his background? Can he even teach?” Williamson had protested. Before he could say anything further the trustee had sighed, pulled out a card of some sort and he’d found himself helplessly agreeing to the new hire. There had always been something strange about this trustee, the headmaster thought vaguely, but the intimidating appearance of the two men escorting the new teacher dissuaded him from any thoughts he’d had of further arguing the issue.

At least he looked the part, Williamson realized. Tall, thin, dressed in a gray suit that did not fit particularly well, yet with a somewhat intimidating air about him – that would come in useful for controlling the pupils. The new professor now stood in the entry hall, luggage at his side, eyeing his surroundings with disfavor. He did not appear to be any happier with his situation than the headmaster was.

“Welcome to Sherborne, sir. I have assigned you to Lyon House. Let me show you to your living quarters.” The four men set off, Williamson pointing out the main layout of the school as they went; once in the professor’s set of rooms the silent escorts deposited the luggage. The headmaster found himself standing in awkward silence as TEAPOT, later to be known as Angleton, glanced around his new living quarters. (He had been assigned an alias while at the school, but for our purposes we will continue to refer to him as Angleton.)

At length, completely ignoring Williamson’s presence, he gave a brief nod to the senior of the two agents. “Very well. This will do.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Angleton. I’m sure you need time to rest and unpack. I should like to see you in my study in one hour.” The new professor gave a curt nod as answer. Trying to hold on to a shred of dignity, the headmaster left and headed to nearby Abbey House. At a door labeled _Thomas Poole, House Master_ he stopped and knocked.

“Enter,” called a pleasant voice. “Ah, Headmaster. Has our new recruit arrived yet?”

“Yes. He appears to be a somewhat strange character.”

“Stranger than average, you mean.” Poole smiled.

Williamson found himself chuckling as Poole gestured him to a chair. “Well, perhaps. I haven’t had much of a chance to speak with him yet. I’m meeting with him in one hour. I came here to ask, as a favour, if you would sit next to him at dinner. You seem to get on so well with the difficult ones.”

“I’m not sure whether it’s a curse or a gift,” Poole answered ruefully. “Does he strike you as an interesting character?”

“Very much so.”

“Well then, I’ll see what I can do.”

Meanwhile the new arrival was slumped in a chair in his quarters, glaring at the agent unpacking his luggage.

“Unbearable,” muttered TEAPOT.

“You have no choice,” the agent replied shortly. “You know what Fuller said.”

“Of course I do.” _Why he thought I would enjoy teaching mathematics to a flock of damned immature vertebrates is beyond me._  

"Your task is to become familiar with how we English think and act. For all intents and purposes, you are now human and you must act like one.”

“I’ve been here before, you know. This is not my first time in a corporeal existence.”

“But this is not Russia, we aren’t in the middle of a revolution, and we do things differently. This isn’t going to be a demanding job. You have your lesson plans?”

TEAPOT indicated the briefcase lying on the table. He had been coached thoroughly before coming to the school and now understood how to draw up lesson plans, roughly what level of mathematics would be required for each class level, and other details of his new profession. Whether he could control a classroom full of pupils or relate to his fellow teachers no one really knew.

“All right, then. We’ll come to pick you up at the end of term. Remember, F doesn’t want to hear any complaints.”

“From the school, or from me?”

“Either one,” the agent retorted, and left.

TEAPOT remained seated in thought for a few minutes; finally he sighed, shook his head, and reported to the headmaster’s study.

“Mr. Williamson. I am here, as you requested.”

The headmaster gave a chilly nod. “Ah yes, Mr. Angleton. Settling in well, are you?”

“Yes.” A sharp pain in his leg prodded him to add “Thank you.” _Damned geas._

‘Your certification, please?”

Q division had provided TEAPOT with paperwork and an appropriate cover story. While not explicitly stating that he had seen government service during the war, this was heavily implied and his (false) recommendations were stellar.

“I see you did some doctorate work? I suppose the war cut that short.” The headmaster was impressed despite himself. “Should you ever wish to complete your degree, let me know. We’ve had professors do part-time doctorate work in the past.”

“That does sound interesting, I’ll consider it.” TEAPOT had to admit that the prospect of doing something beyond basic mathematics was appealing. From there the conversation moved to an overview of the school schedule, grading papers and what Angleton’s responsibilities would be as a housemaster in training. “Professor McKinnon will be retiring at the end of this year. He has been Head of Lyon House for many years and you will be working with him. By the end of term I expect you will be able to take over full duty as Housemaster.”

 _Ugh. Not only must I teach them, I have to live with them?_ TEAPOT opened his mouth to protest, but another sharp stab of pain forced him to change what he was going to say to “Very well. Does Professor McKinnon teach math?” he added hopefully.

“No, history. He is an avid chess player – do you play?”

“As a matter of fact I do.”

“Excellent. He should be returning tomorrow. For tonight I have assigned Dr. Thomas Poole to sit with you at dinner. He’s been with us for many years. Housemaster at Abbey House, his subject is English Literature. A very likable chap.”

About two-thirds of the teaching staff were in residence. TEAPOT braced himself for a never-ending round of introductions and what he thought of as “useless conversation.” However, he was relieved to note that two or three of the other teachers were nearly as antisocial as he was. Poole was more conversant but also had a gift for comfortable silence. The headmaster made a few announcements after dinner and then Poole suggested a stroll around the school grounds. He was able to direct the new professor to the classroom where he would be teaching, showed him the cricket field (of no interest to TEAPOT whatsoever) and then the two men returned to Poole’s study.

Poole made tea while wondering what on earth they would find to talk about. His first thought, to discuss their respective subjects, bore unexpected fruit. “I understand from Headmaster Williamson that your subject is mathematics, in fact that it has more or less been your life’s work.”

“Mathematics _is_ life,” TEAPOT said sharply. “It gives everything meaning.”

“Splendid! That’s exactly how I feel about English literature. It isn’t just about reading a book. You can learn so much of human nature from the classics; that’s what I tell my students. If you want to know what motivates people, why they behave the way they do…”

 _Hmmm. This could be useful._ “Well, perhaps… is there a work you would recommend?”

“I’ll give you a copy of my personal favorite. _Paradise Lost._ You haven’t read it before?”

“No, it hasn’t come my way.”

“Epic poem by John Milton, in the Judeo-Christian tradition, about the creation of the universe and the fall of man.” Poole handed TEAPOT a thick volume bound in leather. “Twelve books in all. Try to go through one book a week, let me know what you think.”

After returning to his room TEAPOT opened the book and began to review it. Reading the preface to the first section he at first thought, _superstitious nonsense!_   Then he came across a sentence which intrigued him. _…for that Angels were long before this visible Creation, was the opinion of many ancient Fathers._

 _Well. For “angels” read “ancient gods,” I suppose. What comes next?_ Then he came to the description of Satan: _Hurled… With hideous ruin and combustion down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In Adamantine Chains…_

It was a little too close for comfort, and TEAPOT closed the book abruptly. But later that evening he found himself restarting Book One, interested to see how the character of Satan dealt with his situation. _It would be magnificent to lead an army of lesser angels,_ he thought. _Pity there are none to be had at Sherborne._

Over the next few weeks he read on, intrigued. Satan’s dangerous journey from perdition to earth impressed him; he began to regard the character as a hero. Secretly he adopted the phrase “Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven” as his personal motto. In his discussions with Poole he passionately defended Satan’s motivation and actions. “Keep reading” was all Thomas said, with a twinkle in his eye.

“You don’t disagree?”

“Whether I disagree or not is not the point, old chap. That’s the thing about great literature. It evokes all sorts of responses. Yours is no less valid than anyone else’s. It may not be what Milton meant, but you have explained yourself so clearly that I know you’re paying attention to the text and analyzing it. That’s how you learn. And your opinion may change as you progress.”

It was the first time anyone had listened seriously to what TEAPOT had to say. His interactions with the leaders of Project TEAPOT were limited to orders, rather than discussions. It was a new experience to talk to someone who paid attention and respected his opinions.

“Thank you, Thomas. I’m starting to see why your pupils enjoy working with you so much.” TEAPOT had never paid anyone a compliment before, nor had he used Poole’s first name. He was rewarded with a warm smile.

“And I thank you, James. This is why I enjoy teaching. It’s so much more than just feeding information into students. I like to see how people respond. And, I find, you get better results that way.”

TEAPOT looked at him suspiciously, but Poole had picked up an essay and was frowning at it critically. If he did glance up to look for a reaction to his comment, it was not until the other teacher was reaching for his briefcase.

“I think I shall review my lesson plans for tomorrow, Thomas. You never know, I might be able to improve on them. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, then.”

“Certainly, James.”

TEAPOT had gotten off to a rocky start when it came to teaching the pupils. To him it had appeared to be a simple matter of presenting information to the students; it had not occurred to him that many of them might have difficulty understanding the subject. He had found their questions exasperating and they, in turn, were too intimidated to ask for help. As a result, the classes as a whole had scored badly on his first set of tests and this had resulted in TEAPOT having to explain himself to the headmaster. It was not a memory he cared to dwell on, as it was far too humiliating for him to admit he had done a poor job.

There was one exception. One of the younger students had scored very highly on this first test. Named Duncan Wyatt, he had a natural aptitude for mathematics; this was the one bright spot TEAPOT had to work with. The boy came from a middle-class background and was attending the school on a scholarship. This meant nothing to TEAPOT, who was uninterested in English class differences, but soon enough he realized that the boy was unhappy.

 

“I just don’t know what to make of him,” muttered Williamson. Poole had reported to the headmaster’s study for their weekly meeting. “He seems almost inhuman. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be a success.”

The English lecturer gave Williamson a quizzical look. “May I ask then, sir, why you hired him?”

“This is in strict confidence, Dr. Poole, but I really wasn’t given a choice. I am sorry, but I cannot explain further than that.”

Poole mastered his curiosity and thought for a moment. “I believe the situation is not as bad as you perceive it to be, Headmaster. Mr. Angleton has the potential to be a true asset to Sherborne, in my opinion. It’s true he requires some polish but time, with a little assistance from me and Professor McKinnon, should take care of that.”

“Do you really think so? Why?”

“Instinct, Headmaster. It’s worked for me before. Give the man a chance. And as for being inhuman, I have faith that everyone has a human side to them. Something tells me he hasn’t had much in the way of social contact. Sherborne has nothing _but_ social contact. This is just the place for him.”

Meanwhile TEAPOT was not only revising his lesson plans but, remembering Poole’s advice, trying to find a better way of communicating with the students. _Mathematics has beauty, logic, precision…_ he thought. _There must be a way I can get them to see this. Or, at least, to make them see how useful it is._ A cheer from the cricket field attracted his attention; he remembered hearing the boys discuss the merits of various professional cricketers. _Hmm. Sporting statistics, perhaps._

The following morning he spoke with each class, explaining that the first test would not count in their final grade and establishing regular times for meeting with students who had questions. “My goal is not merely for you to listen. I want you to understand. Mathematics is not only about numbers, it is about logic. Ideally, once you learn how to solve the problems I set you, you can extend that knowledge to all manner of problems. My door is open; if you need help, ask. I assure you that I am here to help.”

That week three students presented with questions during study hours. The following week the number grew to seven. TEAPOT realized with some surprise that he was starting to feel a genuine sense of accomplishment in his job. More and more he felt satisfaction when a student began to understand the principles behind algebra or geometry.

Wyatt seemed to turn up for every study hour, which posed a difficulty for TEAPOT as he quickly realized he could not show favoritism toward the boy; it was the others who needed help. Left to his own devices Wyatt would have answered nearly every question posed in class. During one of their weekly chess games TEAPOT discussed this issue with McKinnon, who promptly invited him to observe his history classes. Not only did the new professor find this helpful, he began to realize how much of Earth’s history he did not know. In his spare time he began to read more and more, everything from _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ to the works of P.G. Wodehouse.

Over the next several months TEAPOT found himself settling into the school routine, if not comfortably then at least acceptably. Though not sociable by any stretch of the imagination, he did come to find academic chat over tea rather enjoyable. TEAPOT had quickly realized that the beverage was as important in England as it had been in Russia, and tea made life at Sherborne feel familiar to him somehow.

At the end of term TEAPOT found himself strangely reluctant to leave the school. Thanking McKinnon, the headmaster and Poole for their help he headed down the drive escorted by the same two agents. The three men gazed after him, Poole with a look of concern in his eyes.

“I still don’t know what to make of him,” Williamson commented.

“He has made progress over the year, you must admit.” McKinnon shrugged. “And he can keep the boys in line. Damned good chess player, best I’ve ever seen…”

“But will that make him a good head of house?” Williamson worried.

“Who are those men, Headmaster?” Poole asked abruptly.

“I was afraid to ask, Dr. Poole. They brought him here at the start of term and that’s really all I know.”

“One might speculate about who our mysterious math teacher really is, eh?” McKinnon chuckled.

“I know one thing. He’s not a happy man. Or a free one,” Poole added. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him next term, Headmaster.”


	2. Year 2, Part A

**Year Two, Part A**

 

“I don’t want to impose on you. I have realized that I seem to be taking up a lot of your time with questions.”

“You are not wasting my time, James. For one thing you keep to the point. Unlike some of our fellow teachers, whose names I shall not mention, who seem to want only to complain for hours on end…” Angleton gave a snort of recognition. “And for another, as far as I can tell, you follow my advice. Or at least listen to it. I find that most people are happy to help as long as their efforts are appreciated. Now. What can I help you with?”

With Professor McKinnon’s retirement TEAPOT had become Housemaster of Lyon. This promotion had come just as he felt he had gained a handle on teaching, forcing him to face a new challenge. It was three weeks into the term and TEAPOT was already wondering if he could survive the school year without going mad.

“It’s young Wyatt. He wants to leave the school. He came to my study yesterday to talk to me about it. I knew he was not happy here, the other boys seem to look down on him. But the situation has progressed beyond that. They’re hiding his belongings, defacing his homework… basically making his life intolerable. I am quite exasperated about the entire situation.” TEAPOT was pacing Poole’s study. “The boy is gifted, Thomas, I am sure of it. I don’t see why he cannot simply be left alone by the other students.”

“Because that isn’t the only reason he is here,” Poole replied calmly. “Part of the purpose of Sherborne is social training as well as academic training. Wyatt may be gifted but he hasn’t bothered to make friends with the other students, as far as I can tell. From what I have noticed he hasn’t shown much interest in English, sports or anything except maths. I agree that the boy should not be mocked or tormented, but he needs to expand his interests. He has to learn to work with others as that is how he will spend his adult life. ‘No man is an island,’ and all that. Surely you’ve learned that for yourself, James?”

“Yes, I have. Thanks to you, I have.” As always, Poole’s presence compelled TEAPOT to complete honesty, so effectively that TEAPOT sometimes wondered whether the man could cast a geas but had concluded it was not possible. “I thought I was mentoring him, encouraging his skills, but I have not been much of a role model as far as the teamwork and social skills you describe. I should be doing a better job. And I will, Thomas. But how do I rescue this situation?”

Poole looked thoughtful. “Teamwork,” he repeated. “That exactly is the point, is it not? Is there one boy who seems to be leading the pranks against Wyatt?”

“Yes, it’s Holland. Giles Holland. He’s everything Wyatt isn’t. Popular, athletic, thick as two planks…” TEAPOT waved a hand disgustedly. “Doesn’t understand much beyond simple algebra.”

“You must learn to judge character in ways other than mathematical skill, James. But – ” a mischievous expression suddenly crossed Poole’s face – “you’ve given me an idea.”

“Let’s have it.”

“What would you say to a small wager, James?”

That afternoon TEAPOT called the two boys to his study. Neither Wyatt nor Holland looked pleased to see the other there.

“Gentlemen, I have an assignment for both of you.” TEAPOT slid a piece of paper toward Holland. “Mr. Holland, as you know your math grades have not really been satisfactory. This problem is designed to give you extra credit. Take a moment to read it, won’t you?”

As the boy read through the assignment he looked completely baffled. “Sir. This looks rather difficult. Maybe if I study harder for the next test –”

“No, Holland. This is not optional. If you want to pass maths this term you must complete this assignment. Fortunately, Mr. Wyatt here has excellent skills and I’m sure he would be happy to help you. And you, in your turn, can help him.”

The boys looked at each other distrustfully. “Sir, how do you mean?”

“Wyatt, Dr. Poole and I were talking the other day about cricket. The match between Lyon and Abbey is coming up soon, as you know, and I have bet Dr. Poole that you will score at least one run in this game.”

“Sir, he can’t even play!” Holland protested.

“He will.” TEAPOT stated this in an icy tone that made argument impossible. “And if you do not score, Wyatt, I will be very displeased. However. Holland here is very good at cricket – are you not, Holland? – and I am sure he’d be happy to coach you in return for some help with this assignment.” He paused a moment to let this sink in. “Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys replied dismally.

“Good. You have two weeks. Make use of them.”

Over the next several days TEAPOT found reasons to frequent the common room of Lyon House. Sure enough, on several occasions Wyatt and Holland were to be found there working on the assignment; during free afternoons he also saw them on the cricket field, Holland bowling to Wyatt and the other boy doing his best to hit the ball.

Sports Day arrived at last and that afternoon Poole found TEAPOT in his study, riffling through his notes on the various parents expected to attend. “Come, James. As you doubtless remember, we have a wager riding on this game.”

“Indeed. I really believe it has worked, Thomas, for both the boys. They do seem to be getting along better. I am very much obliged to you.”

Ever afterward TEAPOT remembered that afternoon as one of the most pleasant of his existence. For once he found cricket rather interesting, and when Duncan Wyatt managed to score not one but three runs he applauded with satisfaction (as did Poole). A man and woman nearby enthusiastically applauding Wyatt’s performance caught his attention. It was obvious that they were the boy’s parents. A minute or two later when Giles Holland came to bat he performed extremely well, but no proud parent or other relative was obvious in the stands. TEAPOT frowned.

“Something wrong, James?”

“It’s nothing. I suppose not all the parents attend Sports Day?”

“We try to encourage attendance, but no, they don’t all come. A shame really.”

“I agree.”

When the game ended Poole ceremoniously handed over a sovereign. TEAPOT accepted it with a nod. “Let us go and congratulate the boys, Thomas, and then I think we may have earned a drink. I’m buying.”

“An excellent idea, James.”

TEAPOT made certain to congratulate both Wyatt and Holland. After fifteen minutes or so of handshaking and small talk with parents and students, the two men headed to the nearby pub. TEAPOT, who had rarely been in one, glanced around with mild curiosity after they settled with their drinks. A few other teachers who had clearly had the same idea were beginning to trickle in and soon a small group formed at one of the tables.

“Well done, your boy.” One teacher saluted TEAPOT with his pint; word of the wager had gotten around. TEAPOT gave a careless nod. “A most enjoyable game,” he commented. “I hope he will be encouraged to play more in the future.”

Gradually the conversation drifted to the staff’s activities over the recent long vacation, and from there (as some of them had been traveling) to the political news in Europe. One staff member in particular, a lecturer in modern European history named Grisby, was loudly praising recent political developments in Russia. Grisby was known among the staff for his leftist political leanings and spent nearly all his vacations on the Continent seeking out every political organization he could find. TEAPOT often wondered what the man was doing in a public school given his aggressive belief in a classless society, but had long since written it off as an example of the hypocrisy that humans seemed to be prone to. And he was in fact an excellent teacher.

“I’m telling you Russia is the place to be. None of this monarchist nonsense there.”

“I have seen worse things in my time than ‘this monarchist nonsense,’ Grisby.”

“I never would have taken you for a royalist, Angleton.”

“I would not describe myself as such, but I do have experience of many different political regimes. In the case of Russia, I agree the Imperial secret police had a death grip on the country and perpetrated all manner of outrages. Unfortunately, the Bolsheviks haven’t done much better. The common man there is no more free now than he was prior to the revolution.”

“Oh, come, that’s nonsense. People are equal there now.”

“Somewhat more equal, but there is still a hierarchy of power. As far as I can tell that’s no better than a hierarchy of royalty. And Imperial or Bolshevik, the secret police are still the secret police. Only their titles change. Be honest, Grisby. Have you ever, for one moment, been afraid to speak your thoughts here? Afraid of being jailed or tortured? Of course not. Such things don’t happen in England.” In fact, TEAPOT had at first assumed that England’s political system would be exactly like Russia’s; this had been one of his biggest surprises as he adjusted to life outside Q Division.

“Don’t believe what you read in the papers. The Bolsheviks are the only ones who tell it like it is.”

“The late Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov would not agree with you. ‘A lie told often enough becomes the truth.’ One of his favorite sayings, if I recall correctly.”

“ _Ya tebe ne veryu_ ,” Grisby muttered.

“ _Eto ubedit vas?_ ”* TEAPOT fired back, and had the satisfaction of seeing the other man blink. As did Poole – and at that moment TEAPOT felt the jab of the geas in his leg. Realizing that he had to guard his tongue, he sat back and let one of the other teachers debate Grisby instead.

Half an hour later Poole made his excuses and left; TEAPOT went with him. As they strolled up the road Poole glanced at his friend and commented, “I had no idea you spoke Russian.”

“I know.” Realizing his answer had been too abrupt, TEAPOT added, “It isn’t the sort of thing one goes round advertising these days. But I have wondered, are you familiar with Russian literature at all?”

“I have read Tolstoy. _Anna Karenina_ and _War and Peace._ Not much else. Are there other authors you would recommend?”

“Dostoeyvsky, certainly. Perhaps Tergenev as well. I have been catching up on English authors, thanks to you, but I must confess I do enjoy Russian literature. One could compare Dostoyevsky to Flaubert…” and TEAPOT managed to turn the conversation. He was well aware, though, that he had not been completely successful in distracting his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I don't believe you."/"Will this convince you?"


	3. Year Two, Part B

One month later TEAPOT was roused in the middle of the night by a pounding on his door. Rousing himself to answer it, he was prepared to deliver a blistering setdown until he saw Duncan Wyatt’s worried face.  


“Well, boy?”  


“It’s Holland, sir. He’s having stomach pain and a fever. I think he is really ill. Can you come, please?”  


“Very well,” Angleton grumbled. However, his irritation vanished once he evaluated Giles, who was in a great deal of pain and had been vomiting.  


“How long have you been ill, boy?”  


“I started to have pain during the afternoon, sir. I tried to ignore it but it got worse…” Giles groaned and clutched his stomach.  


_Of course the Headmaster had to be gone on top of everything else,_ TEAPOT thought. “Has anyone called the nurse?”  


No one had. By this time the hall outside Giles’ room was crowded with students; TEAPOT selected one of them to send for the nurse and waved the rest of them back. “You need a doctor, boy, but let’s get you checked here first.”  


Sherborne had had the same nurse on staff for many years; she took one look at Holland and announced, “It’s appendicitis. He needs surgery right away. I’ll call the doctor; Mr. Angleton, I assume you will accompany the boy to the hospital?”  


“Certainly.” TEAPOT was fuming inwardly at the inconvenience but knew there was nothing else to be done – he was the house master, after all. “If you will make transportation arrangements, I’ll get dressed and we can leave in the next few minutes.”  


Once arrived at hospital it was clear to TEAPOT that he could not leave Giles. The boy was running a fever and looking more uncomfortable by the minute. The nurse who took his temperature asked, “Has your family been notified?”  


“My father is in Switzerland,” Giles replied. “I don’t have any relatives here, just an aunt, and we don’t stay in touch.”  


“What about your mother, boy?” asked TEAPOT.  


Giles bit his lip. “She’s dead, sir. She died a month before term started.”  


TEAPOT could sense the fear and loneliness coming from the boy. At that point the nurse rolled the gurney into a corner with the statement “The surgeon will be here soon” and left. TEAPOT glanced around, found a chair and sat next to Giles to wait.  


For a few moments he sat in silence, berating himself. Since arriving at Sherborne he had deliberately shut out the mental clamor of Lyon House, finding it too distracting. If such a thing as a psychic migraine were possible the constant chatter of the immature minds around him would have given him one. However, it was clear to him now that this was a luxury he could no longer afford. There was no excuse for his lack of awareness of Holland’s family situation, and he knew it was clearly his duty to be familiar with his students’ backgrounds. He found himself at a loss for what to do next, as providing comfort or sympathy was completely alien to his nature. In desperation he wondered, _what would Thomas do?_ Suddenly he knew what to say.  


“I am sorry to hear of your loss, boy. I had no idea.”  


“I didn’t tell anyone, sir. Didn’t want the other chaps to know.”  


“You have done a very fine job in Lyon House this term with Wyatt and with the other boys. Shouldn’t wonder if you made Prefect eventually.”  


Holland actually relaxed at this and gave a small smile. “Wyatt was the only one who wasn’t afraid to go to your room, sir. He told me he’d fetch you and everything would be all right.”  


“I shall have to remember to thank him.” Suddenly TEAPOT noted a doctor approaching. It was indeed the surgeon, who performed a quick and competent exam. Giving the boy a pat on the shoulder he announced, “We’ll soon have you right as rain. You, sir, if you’d care to wait, we should be done in a little more than an hour.”  


TEAPOT agreed, reassured Holland that he would get in touch with his father and settled back to pass the time by mentally drafting problems for an upcoming algebra test. Eventually he began to doze. Some time later a hand on his shoulder snapped him to attention; it was the surgeon, looking pleased with himself. “Not to worry,” he announced. “The boy is fine, everything went well. He will require a few days to recover. I assume we can contact you when he is ready to be discharged from the hospital?”  


“Yes, that will be fine. His family is not available at present. I assume I or other members of the school would be allowed to visit while the boy is here?”  


“Certainly, certainly. I don’t yet know which room he will be assigned but the front desk can let you know.”  


At this point very tired, TEAPOT wasted no time in returning to the school. The sun had just risen as he walked into Lyon House. He was immediately surrounded by a cluster of highly excited students, all asking for news of Giles. After one or two attempts to silence the boys, the housemaster resorted to an icy glare which had an instant effect.  


“I have good news, gentlemen. Mr. Holland is doing well. He had surgery last night and the doctor assures me that he will be back with us in a few days.” He raised a hand to counter the cheer that went up. “I must ask, does any of you have knowledge of his family? No?” This was not unexpected, but TEAPOT could not suppress a sigh. “Holland’s parents are… not available at this time. He is going to need our help when he returns, and I am going to ask you to assist me. He will need you to bring him meals, homework assignments, that sort of thing. Which reminds me, I must speak with Nurse Edson later today. Lastly, gentlemen, as I had very little sleep last night I ask for your forbearance this afternoon. I hope to get some rest as soon as classes are over.”  


As he entered the faculty dining room TEAPOT was greeted with anxious curiosity, but was able to satisfy Poole and the other teachers that Giles was doing well. Several of the other teachers immediately offered to visit Giles in hospital and make arrangements for him to keep up with his studies, even to cover classes if need be. TEAPOT nearly choked on his tea with surprise; it had never occurred to him that other faculty members would be willing to help. As he caught Poole’s eye, a twinkle of humor indicated that the other man was aware of his reaction.  


“What say you, James? Shall I make a list of what needs to be done while you get ready for today's classes?”  


“That would be very helpful, Thomas. Thank you all – I really do appreciate it. I don’t mind admitting that it was a strenuous night. I think I can manage for this morning, but if someone could cover study hall in the afternoon till teatime it would be a great help.” TEAPOT was given this assurance and headed to his first class of the day. For a moment, gazing at the full classroom, he was overwhelmed by fatigue. Resisting the temptation to back out, he suddenly was inspired to be honest with the students.  


“Gentlemen. Let this be a lesson to all of us not to brag. I have often told myself that I could teach maths in my sleep. Today we will find out whether that is actually true.”  


There was a moment of silence, then clapping and cheers. TEAPOT responded with a wintry smile and was pleasantly surprised to see that his classes were extremely well behaved for the rest of the day. After a few hours of sleep he decided to return to the hospital; on leaving Lyon House he found himself accompanied by several students, including Wyatt.  


“Please, sir, do you think we could visit?”  


TEAPOT was completely unaware of hospital protocol. “I don’t see why not,” he answered, and accompanied by the boys, he presented to the ward and requested to see Giles Holland.  


“Sir,” the nurse replied, “children are not allowed on the ward.”  


“They are not children. They are my students and they are friends of Mr. Holland.”  


“Sir, we really can’t allow – oh, Matron! These boys came to see the student from Sherborne. Could you explain, please?”  


TEAPOT turned and found himself under the gaze of a woman with an air of authority. “These boys need to leave the ward at once,” she snapped.  


“I don’t think you understand. Matron, is it? Mr. Holland’s parents are not available to visit and I do believe he would benefit from seeing his friends.” Matron opened her mouth to argue further, but found herself pinned by the coldest gaze she had ever seen. “We will see him now,” TEAPOT added calmly and swept away, the awed boys following in his wake.  


“I don’t think we have long, gentlemen. Make your greetings.” TEAPOT stood at the foot of the bed, eyes out for hospital staff, while Holland’s friends crowded around. After a few minutes of excited chat, TEAPOT noted the surgeon approaching. “Ah, Doctor. I realize this is not according to protocol, but I trust you will not object? The boy’s mother is dead,” he added in an undertone, “and the father is out of the country. I felt it could only help his recovery to see his friends.”  


“I see, yes. Well, no harm done. However, I need to examine the incision… could you and your pupils wait by the door? I’ll let you know how he is doing in just a moment.”  


“Of course. Gentlemen!” The boys immediately made their farewells and with perfect behavior marched off the ward. TEAPOT noted their obedience with a twitch of his eyebrow and waited near the nurses’ desk. After a few minutes the surgeon announced, “Three days. Assuming no fever, he should be ready to go by then. I will provide you with a list of instructions. Will someone be available to dress the wound?”  


“We have a school nurse who has a good deal of experience. I should think this is not her first appendectomy case. Also, the other teaching staff will be available to help.” With thanks and goodbyes on both sides, TEAPOT herded his charges out of the hospital and back to Sherborne.  


“James, you are the talk of the school,” Poole greeted him that evening. “Did you really terrify Matron?”  


“I, ah, trust she will recover. The boys were very well behaved, and I really did not understand her objections.”  


Poole chuckled. “James, Matrons run the hospital. Protocol is their life blood.”  


“I agree protocol exists for a reason. But sometimes rules can be bent, don’t you think?”  


“I do. And in fact this has worked to your advantage. Every boy in Lyon House is bragging about you as we speak. You have won them over, James. Well done!”


	4. Year Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, my description of Angleton's thesis is completely made up. I know nothing of higher math. I do intend it to tie into something in a future chapter.

It was the beginning of term again and TEAPOT was midway through unpacking his belongings, having just returned from the SOE. This was the first year he had been trusted to travel alone. He was interrupted by a pupil bearing a note, which he opened. 

_James:_  
_A signal honour is yours. You have been invited to join the Faculty Committee, which meets monthly. The first meeting of the school year will be held on Monday at 6 pm._  
_T_

TEAPOT scribbled a reply and sent it back. 

_Thomas:_  
_I do not join committees._  
_J_

A few minutes later the boy returned.

_James:_  
_You will join this one._  
_T_

TEAPOT eyed the apprehensive boy. “My compliments to Dr. Poole,” he said calmly, “and I will discuss this with him later. No reply.”

  


A few hours later TEAPOT knocked at the door of Poole’s study. “You’re looking very well, Thomas,” he commented with mild surprise. “I assume you had a good holiday?” 

Poole’s demeanor was even more cheerful than usual. “Excellent, thank you. And you, James?”

“Well enough. In fact, I think I’ve come up with an idea for my doctoral thesis. Started working on it a few weeks ago.”

“Some abstruse mathematical theorem, no doubt?”

“That describes it very well.” TEAPOT had become interested in using multidimensional protocols to increase the number of states available to finite-state machines. His purpose was to see if the speed of mechanical calculators could be improved, in the hope that applications of the process could be applied from everything from manufacturing to military defense. Over the summer he had been enrolled in the Cambridge Department of Mathematics under the auspices of the Laundry and had begun to make significant progress on the project. “But Thomas. This committee?”

“There’s an open seat on the Faculty Committee and you’re the perfect man for the job. You are the most organized man I have ever met, James, and we all could benefit from your help.” Noting that TEAPOT still looked dubious, he added, “Sherborne does not run itself, you know. We all assist the Headmaster as we can. Think of it as a chance to practice your teamwork skills. It will do you good.” 

TEAPOT well remembered the help he had received in the past, not just from Poole but from the other faculty during Giles Holland’s appendicitis scare. He assented with a sigh. “I have to do this, don’t I?”

“Yes, James, you do. But chin up. If you ever wanted to learn about the inner workings of Sherborne, here’s your chance.”

“I can hardly wait.” 

  


On Monday evening TEAPOT took care to arrive early for the meeting. He was greeted by Headmaster Williamson and by Dr. Poole, who handed him a two-page agenda. “Read it through, James, just to get an idea of what we’ll be doing.” 

Williamson was interested to hear about TEAPOT’s doctoral project and the two men chatted for a few minutes; as other committee members arrived, Poole leaned over and whispered, “Any questions?”

“What am I expected to do?”

“For this first meeting, not much. Just listen and pay attention, we’ll talk later.” TEAPOT nodded and relaxed, but then tensed up again as Grisby sat next to him.

“You here, Angleton? How’d you wind up on the faculty committee?”

“I suggest you ask Dr. Poole. Apparently he was the one who nominated me.” Grisby greeted this news with a grunt and turned to speak to one of the other professors. As the headmaster chose that moment to open the meeting TEAPOT ignored the snub and focused on the agenda. 

The school’s annual Parents Day was a major focus of the meeting. It took place six weeks into the school year and was, of course, particularly important for the parents of new students. It was traditional to offer tours of the school, usually given by the sixth form students. While discussing arrangements for Parents Day, Poole asked if one of the faculty would be willing to recruit students to give the tours. As this did not seem like a complex task, TEAPOT volunteered for this and was given a nod of thanks. Poole conducted the meeting briskly, with occasional input from Williamson, and the evening concluded sooner than TEAPOT had expected. As the committee members dispersed, Poole suggested, “Questions, James? Why don’t you stay on for a minute and we can discuss.” In a very short time they were the only two left in the faculty room. 

“An impressive performance, Thomas. I’m beginning to see how much Headmaster Williamson relies on you. And yet you hold no administrative title, you take no formal credit for the assistance you give him. Why is that?” TEAPOT was honestly curious.

Poole shrugged. “I don’t need the credit, James. My reward comes from knowing I am able to help the school and the students. I believe in what Sherborne stands for and I believe every member of the faculty has a duty to do what we can to help our students become leaders and fine men. Our responsibilities extend beyond teaching alone.”

“I suppose so,” TEAPOT sighed. “When I first came to Sherborne I thought this job would be simple. It’s frightening to look back and realize how little I understood.”

Poole looked at him curiously. “Why is that, James? You’ve always seemed very observant to me, and clearly you’re an intelligent man.”

_But I’m not a man,_ TEAPOT thought. The reminder almost caused him regret. “It’s difficult to explain. The work I have done in the past did not reward relating to others in the way we do here. My behavior didn’t matter to my employers, as long as I got the job done. But then something happened, and I had to recuperate. I was assigned here…” He broke off, but instead of the jolt of pain he was expecting he felt only a mild tingling in his feet. “I am sorry, Thomas. I really cannot tell you more.” 

The other man nodded. “I knew there had to be more to the story. And you’re right, I don’t need to know. Instead, tell me what you observed tonight. What conclusions did you draw?”

“There was a long agenda but you handled it very efficiently. Clearly you had familiarized yourself with everything that was going to be discussed prior to the meeting.” Poole’s nod encouraged him to continue. “No one monopolized the discussion. You made certain everyone had a chance to speak. Even Mr. Russell.” Russell, one of the Latin teachers, was shy but often had good suggestions. “Also there was no unnecessary delay. You made certain that the meeting stayed on topic. The more I think about it, the more I am reminded of a military briefing. Very well done, Thomas.” He suddenly noticed that Poole was looking at him with interest.

“So you have military experience, do you, James?”

“Only as a civilian advisor,” TEAPOT answered quickly. The geas was causing his legs to tingle again. “At any rate, I was impressed by your ability to encourage others to participate. You didn’t give any orders. You didn’t need to. This is… unusual in my experience.”

“We are not the military, James. A good administrator is able to motivate others to contribute, rather than ordering them to do so. I don’t want you, or indeed anyone, to shoulder a multitude of tasks on top of a full course load. If one executes well others will volunteer almost without being aware of it.”

TEAPOT gave a snort of laughter. “I never heard such nonsense. After all, you’ve never gotten me to volunteer for… anything…” Poole met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. This time his friend’s laugh was more genuine. “Well done, Thomas. It seems I must be your pupil yet again.”

“Sometimes I fear I am positively Machiavellian, James.”

“But your goal is the greater good of the school. I shall have to study your techniques and apply them.”

Poole flashed a grin. “Now you terrify me, James.”

  


TEAPOT found himself thinking over Poole’s words for the next few days. There was one task that had been on his mind for some time. The Sherborne chess club had been in decline ever since Professor McKinnon’s retirement. Busy with his new duties as housemaster, TEAPOT had ignored the club and gradually attendance had decreased to the point that very few students continued to meet. That Saturday afternoon TEAPOT strode into the common room used by the club with his chessboard tucked under his arm.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I join you?” The students looked surprised but welcomed him. The leader of the group was a fifth form student; TEAPOT eyed the problem he had set out.

“Show me how you would solve this, Mr – ”

“Reece, sir.”

“Ah yes, Reece. Well, carry on.” 

TEAPOT listened without expression as the boy nervously explained his approach to the problem. “Very good, Reece, and certainly a workable solution. From a strategy point of view, you might consider…” and he pointed out an additional move which would strengthen White’s defense.

“Thank you, sir! I hadn’t thought of that.” Reece’s face lit with the enthusiasm of a true chess player. He asked one or two other questions and then TEAPOT offered to set up additional problems for the students.

“I know some of you remember Professor McKinnon. We used to play chess regularly. Unfortunately I did not have time last year to join you, but I am more than willing to act as advisor if you wish the help. I should like to observe your approach to these problems to get a better idea of your skill level, and if you would like to invite anyone to join the group I would be available to teach a beginner’s class.” 

The rest of the meeting went well, with the players eager for advice. Working with the boys was more enjoyable than TEAPOT had expected. “A most entertaining afternoon,” he commented to Reece at the end of the meeting. “I do enjoy a good game of chess. And I can see you put a good deal of work into the club.”

“I like chess, too, sir. My father and I play games by mail. But this is certainly faster,” he added with a cheerful grin. “With your help, I think we can build the club back up by the end of the year.”

  


TEAPOT went in to dinner in a good mood. He scanned the dining room looking for Poole, anticipating a discussion about the chess club, but he was nowhere to be seen. When he stopped by Abbey House later the prefect could tell him only that Dr. Poole had left suddenly for London. “He said it was urgent and he’d be back tomorrow, sir.” 

The next afternoon he still had not heard from Poole. TEAPOT was walking to Abbey House when he was nearly run over by Headmaster Williamson, who was rushing out the door with a look of near panic. Having caught up to him, TEAPOT demanded, “Mr. Williamson, is anything wrong with Dr. Poole? I have not seen him since yesterday morning.”

“I cannot discuss it, Mr. Angleton.” 

“I think you’ll find that you can, sir.” TEAPOT locked gazes with the headmaster. “I am not asking out of mere curiosity. I owe Dr. Poole a great deal. If there is any way that I can help –”

Williamson capitulated. “Oh, very well. If you must know, Dr. Poole has been arrested. For indecent behavior,” he added to forestall TEAPOT’s next question.

“What!”

“He was caught with a young man in, ah, an incriminating situation.” 

Very few secrets could be hidden from the Eater of Souls. He was well aware of Poole’s sexual orientation, just as he had realized almost immediately that Williamson was a henpecked husband. The intimate relations of humans were of little or no interest to him, but he understood their social importance. “How could he be so stupid?”

“I really don’t know, Mr. Angleton. And now he’s in disgrace, he’s going to have to leave the school –”

“Sir, is that really necessary?”

“Once word gets out – and it will – there will be nothing I can do. I can’t imagine what the trustees will say. Or rather, I can,” Williamson added darkly.

The word “trustee” rang a bell in TEAPOT’s mind. “Supposing I can get the charges dropped?”

“How?”

“Never mind how, sir. If I can do it, there would be no reason for Dr. Poole to leave. Is that correct?”

“If it could be hushed up…” the headmaster seized hopefully on this idea. “He’s one of the best teachers we have at the school. He’s never been anything but kind, helpful, supportive of everyone around him.”

“Yes.” TEAPOT thought for a moment. “Headmaster, I need to place a call to London. In private. May I use the phone in your study?”

“Go ahead. Please let me know what transpires.” 

TEAPOT put the call through and then spoke a certain phrase to the person who answered. “Tell him to call me back at this number. I’ll wait.”

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. “This had better be important.”

“It is, and good afternoon. I apologize for calling on a weekend –” 

“Just tell me.”

TEAPOT explained the situation. “This man is about to have his entire career and his life destroyed. I need your help to get the charges dropped.”

“You can’t be serious! Look here, TEAPOT –”

“Angleton. My name is Angleton.”

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. “Very well, _Mister_ Angleton, do you have any idea what you are asking?” 

“Of course I do. A few weeks ago you complimented me on my progress; I tell you now that everything I have accomplished is due to this man’s help. I owe it to him to help him in return. And frankly I consider the charge ridiculous.”

“These laws exist for a reason, Angleton. That may not matter to you, but have you thought about the risk to the students, having a person like that on staff?”

Had the headmaster been present, Angleton’s expression might have caused him to faint. The cold glow from his eyes reflected off the table. “This man does not prey on the young. Do you think I wouldn’t know? Every student in the school respects him. If Sherborne loses him it will affect every person here, students and staff alike.” 

“Let me investigate and I’ll get back to you.” The SOE administrator rang off before Angleton could say another word. Within half an hour he called back, sounding far more cooperative. “Scotland Yard owes you a favour, Angleton. It turns out that the man involved with your friend is known for this sort of thing. He seduces men and once he has incriminating evidence he blackmails them. Dr. Poole has guts, I’ll give him that. He reported this man to the police knowing he would likely be arrested. Because of his cooperation, and with a little help from someone higher up, the police were more than willing to drop the charges.”

Angleton took a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. But please understand we can’t do this again. If Dr. Poole finds himself in trouble again, he’s on his own.”

“I will make that clear to him.” 

  


Late that evening Angleton saw Poole return to Abbey House. Too impatient and anxious to wait until the following morning, he went to speak to his friend at once. This decision was a mistake. It had not occurred to Angleton that Poole was feeling both angry and humiliated. The two men found themselves locked in argument almost immediately.  
“I don’t understand why you would endanger yourself like this. Everything you’ve worked for –”

“No, James. You don’t understand,” Poole broke in fiercely. “Very few people do. I didn’t expect that you would, but what really bothers me is this. You’re only upset with me because what I did inconvenienced you. Anything that interferes with your existence simply cannot be tolerated!”

Angleton was silent for a moment. “You’re right. I have relied on you from the first day I came to Sherborne. I came to take you for granted and that was wrong of me. But I have seen what you accomplish here every day. The school truly would not be the same without you. It would be a far lesser place. To put all that at risk for a moment’s gratification… it is inexcusable.”

“There are times when I do not care, James, and this is one of those times. Yes, I like what I do and I enjoy working here. I find my job very satisfying. But never having the freedom to be myself – it’s intolerable sometimes.”

“I understand that too,” Angleton said quietly. “My struggles are not the same as yours but I have them nonetheless.” 

“And even now you won’t tell me what they are?”

“Cannot, Thomas. I cannot. I have no wish to endanger you or anyone else at the school. And if you saw who I am – who I can be – you would not like me.”

Poole began to speak, met Angleton’s cold gaze and shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he retorted. At a loss for words, Angleton turned and left. 

  


The next morning Headmaster Williamson was relieved to see Poole present in the dining room, but noticed that he and Angleton were seated on opposite sides of the room. They exchanged not a single glance or comment during breakfast. Shortly afterward Poole stalked defensively into the headmaster’s office. 

“Well, Headmaster. Am I here to be lectured?”

“I don’t think I need to, do I?” Williamson replied gently. His approach worked; he could see Poole relax in relief.

“No, sir, you do not. I do appreciate your understanding. I know that many other schools would not have hesitated to fire me, even though the charges were dropped. This ordeal has been quite humiliating and I can assure you that it will not happen again.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. And I am relieved that the situation ended as well as it did. I owe Mr. Angleton a debt of gratitude, as I am sure you must as well,” Williamson added with an eye to see what Poole’s reaction would be.

“I owe him nothing,” Poole retorted. Seeing the headmaster’s frown, he added “We didn’t have a very good conversation yesterday.”

“Did he not tell you, then?”

“Tell me what, Headmaster?”

“It is entirely owing to Mr. Angleton’s efforts that the charges were dropped,” the headmaster said bluntly. Poole’s shocked look confirmed Williamson’s suspicion. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“No, sir. Why didn’t he tell me?” The question came out almost in a whisper. A few moments later Poole shook his head. “A ridiculous question. I know exactly why he didn’t tell me. I never gave him the chance.”

It was shortly before teatime when Angleton, correcting a pile of homework assignments, was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Enter.” He was somewhat surprised to see Poole walk in, close the door and resolutely turn to face him.

“James, I owe you an apology. I did not realize it was you that I have to thank for my job and for saving me from disgrace.”

Angleton sighed. “It was the headmaster, wasn’t it? That man cannot keep a secret.”

Poole’s expression lightened slightly. “In this case, he did the right thing. I assume you called your… associates… to help. I only mention it because I don’t want you to get into any trouble on my account,” he finished hastily. 

Angleton bowed his head. “Thank you, Thomas. I can assure you at least that I am not in any trouble. And I am very relieved that you are back. Stay, why don’t you? We’ll have some tea. And I have been wanting to tell you about my work with the chess club.”


	5. Year Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter implies corporal punishment (caning).

At the end of the summer Angleton returned to Sherborne with a sense of relief. He had spent the long vacation in London studying political developments in Germany: a new chancellor, now called _Fuhrer,_ had recently been elected. He was a fast-rising political star named Adolf Hitler. “We know he’s interested in the occult,” the SOE team leader had explained. “We have reason to think he's forming a research group. They call it the Ahnenerbe Society, we haven't heard of any major projects from them as yet but the situation bears watching.” For weeks Angleton had divided his energies between working on his thesis and reviewing reports from agents in Germany. He welcomed a return to the routine of the school year. For the first time, however, his SOE responsibilities were beginning to overlap with his work at the school. He had become concerned enough about developments in German occult research to suggest that SOE place a warded drop box on the school grounds to make it easier to communicate and Angleton’s manager had immediately agreed. 

The quiet grounds of Sherborne were a welcome contrast to the heat and traffic of London. On an impulse, instead of unpacking Angleton wandered out to the cricket ground. He was soon joined by Thomas Poole, who sat next to him in the stands.

“Well, James, how are you? I rarely see you here.”

“It was a busy summer. I thought a little peace and quiet before the school year starts…”

“Would be good for the soul? Yes, absolutely.” 

Angleton looked thoughtfully into the distance. “It is rare one has the opportunity to take stock. Do you ever think about the future, Thomas?” 

“I don’t know what my future holds, James. More of the same, I suspect. I suppose I should think about it more, but I prefer to live in the present. At the moment my life here is enough. Unfortunately the years seem to be cycling more and more quickly. Some day retirement will come, but the truth is that I don’t like to think about it. You?”

“Eventually it will be time for me to leave, Thomas. Not this year, hopefully not next, but someday I will be needed elsewhere. Like you, it isn’t something I want to think about right now.”

Over the past year Angleton had become accustomed to his position on the Faculty Committee. As Thomas had predicted, committee work was well suited to his skills and his sharply observant personality matched well with Poole’s gentle persuasiveness. “You’re Poole’s right-hand man these days,” Grisby sneered after one meeting; Angleton merely shrugged in response.

“You don’t seem to get along too well with him,” Poole commented after Grisby left the room.

“That is an understatement, Thomas. One might ask: does _anyone_ get along with him?”

“The students like him, and he has good friends among the younger professors. I don’t always agree with Grisby myself, but I try not to dismiss him on that account. He has ability, and wisdom is something that is gained, James. It takes time.”

“What I can’t understand is his persistent antagonism. He seemed set against me from the start.”

“You made Head of House after one year,” his friend reminded him. “I think Grisby was hoping for the job.”

“That was not by my choice. I was –” Angleton ended with a shrug. “Well, let’s not go into it. But that certainly would explain his attitude. I have no ambition to be Headmaster or to hold any other administrative position, but I suppose I’ll never be able to convince him of that.” 

“You never know,” Poole commented optimistically. “Grisby has sense. If you could get him to drop his defenses, he would see your good qualities.”

Angleton’s frown softened by a millimeter or so. “I’m not sure how many good qualities I actually have, Thomas, but I will do my best.”

The following week Angleton was returning from a visit to the drop box and heard someone crying out in pain. Looking around he saw a man running into one of the classrooms, followed by angry shouting. Angleton immediately followed; as he walked into the room he saw a third form boy in tears. Grisby, standing in front of the boy, was berating one of the newer teachers, a geography teacher named Willis. Willis was new to the school and Angleton had had very little contact with him, but he was holding a switch and had clearly been caning the student. 

“What is the problem?” Angleton asked icily.

“I’m disciplining a student. This idiot seems to think I’m committing a murder! I’m within my rights to cane him if necessary.”

"What would make it necessary? Was he cheating on a test?” But before Willis could answer, Grisby broke in.

“This wasn’t discipline, it was brutal! He was beating the boy. I don’t agree with caning, but this was far beyond that.”

Angleton could sense the boy’s shock and pain, and – with a sense of disgust – that Willis took pleasure in what he was doing. “I have never found physical discipline necessary to keep order in the classroom, Willis. Perhaps you should spend more time working on your teaching skills instead of your arm strength?” 

Willis was red in the face, whether from anger or from exertion Angleton was not sure. “It’s none of your damned business. I’ll thank both of you to leave and let me do what I feel is necessary!”

One look at the terrified boy was enough for Angleton. “Absolutely not. Grisby, take the boy. I’ll take care of this.” He shut the door, turned and walked back into the room. “I do not like bullies, Willis. I think it’s time you were taught a lesson.”

A few minutes later Angleton left the classroom to find Grisby waiting in the hallway.

“Is the boy all right?”

“Badly shaken, a bit bruised, but he’ll do. I appreciate your help.”

“And I yours. I’m sure the situation would have been much worse had you not been there.” 

“Not that it did much good,” Grisby responded angrily, “even if we complain. Willis can move on to another school, no questions asked.” 

“I think I can promise you that won’t happen,” Angleton said calmly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Willis is leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Meet me at the school gate at seven-thirty. You’ll be able to see for yourself. In the meantime, I should like to speak to the boy. What is his name?”

“Rollins. Peter Rollins.” Grisby led the way to an office where Rollins, clearly still upset, was seated. Angleton took the chair behind the desk while Grisby stood next to the boy and smiled at him reassuringly.

“Mr. Rollins. I asked Mr. Grisby if I could speak with you for a moment before you return to your house.” Trying not to intimidate the boy further, Angleton was careful to keep his voice as quiet and level as possible. “I wanted to make it clear that Sherborne does not tolerate behavior like Mr. Willis’s tonight. There is a difference between discipline and abuse. I would ask you to spread the word among your fellow students: if you hear of anything like this happening again, if you have reason to believe any teacher here is being inappropriate or abusive, let us know. You can come to Mr. Grisby, or Dr. Poole, or myself and trust us to deal with the situation.” 

“Y-yes, sir. Please, sir, what about Mr. Willis? Do I have to go back to his class?” The boy was beginning to tremble.

“Geography classes are cancelled for tomorrow. You will not be seeing Mr. Willis again.” The edge of anger in Angleton’s tone made the boy’s eyes widen. 

“Please sir, what did you _do?_ ” Grisby had to hide a smile at this question.

Angleton paused for a moment. “That is not your concern, boy, but let us say that I convinced him of the error of his ways. You may go now. If you need anything, please come to one of us.” 

Rollins, looking somewhat reassured, lost no time in leaving the building. Angleton turned to Grisby. “Shall we go explain to the headmaster?” 

Grisby did not answer directly. After a moment he said quietly, “My brother and I were at a school like this. There was a teacher who abused the students. There was no one there to stand up for my brother. He hasn’t been the same since. I promised myself I would never let that happen.”

“And you were quite right.” Angleton leaned back in the chair and considered. “Now, what are we going to do about replacing Willis?”

“There’s someone I used to work with,” Grisby began tentatively. “He was on leave for illness. Tuberculosis. But he’s better now and looking for another job.”

“Good teacher?”

“I vouch for him. He’s very good.”

“Let us go talk to the headmaster, and then perhaps we can send your friend a telegram.” The two men headed for Williamson’s rooms, Grisby looking at Angleton with increased respect.

The following morning Grisby joined Angleton at the school gate where a cab was waiting. Rollins and some of his classmates, who were headed to breakfast, drifted over to see what was happening.

“Good morning, James. I heard from my friend; he will be coming for an interview today.”

“Excellent. I shall look forward to meeting him.” Angleton narrowed his eyes and peered across the lawn. “I believe our former associate is headed this way.”

“I never did ask you what you said –” Grisby was beginning when he and the boys were struck silent by Willis’s appearance. Clearly traumatized, the man turned white as a sheet as he made eye contact with Angleton. 

“Remember my warning,” Angleton said quietly. _“I will find you.”_ Willis nearly ran for the cab; Angleton turned and looked at Grisby.

“Are you satisfied, Bill?” 

“Who are you?” Grisby managed, through a suddenly dry mouth.

“No one special. Just a maths teacher. Gentlemen! I believe it’s time for breakfast.” The boys scattered obediently as Angleton led the way to the dining room. “By the way, I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on the political situation in Germany. I for one find it worrisome…”


	6. Year Five

“Congratulations, Dr. Angleton!” Headmaster Williamson raised his sherry glass in a toast. “Well done.”

“Thank you, sir.” The headmaster had decided to give a sherry party to celebrate Angleton’s completion of his doctoral degree. Most of the faculty was present, as was Mrs. Williamson (who seemed to be spending most of her time monitoring her husband’s sherry intake). Although Angleton still found parties tiresome, his social skills had improved to the point that he found himself rather enjoying the evening. He had even managed a long conversation with Grisby, who had recently returned from Germany and had not been pleased with what he saw there. 

“It isn’t looking good. The economic situation has improved, but freedom of the press is almost nonexistent. The German government is nothing but a bunch of thugs, the lot of them.”

“Do you have any friends in Berlin? Anyone who was able to talk to you about developments there?”

“There are people there I know who used to be friends,” Grisby answered dryly. “They think Hitler’s wonderful. It’s as if he has hypnotized them.”

“They say he’s quite the orator. Very convincing.”

“I tell you, James, I don’t like it.”

Angleton just had time for a nod of agreement when Thomas Poole joined them. “I have done my duty distracting Mrs. Williamson so that our headmaster could get himself a second glass of sherry. Congratulations again, James.” Despite his smile Poole appeared worn and tired. Angleton could sense that his energy was low. 

“Thank you, Thomas. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” the other man answered quickly. “Tell us more about your thesis, James. I’m not sure Bill has heard the details.” 

Angleton obediently turned the subject, but the next several weeks did nothing to reassure his concerns. A steady stream of reports from Germany made it difficult for him to spend as much time with Thomas as he would have liked. One day about halfway through the term he stood outside the dining hall watching his friend head back to Abbey House; Poole was walking slowly and Angleton realized his condition had worsened in the past several weeks. Suddenly he became aware that the headmaster was standing next to him, also watching Poole.

“He’s not well,” Angleton said bluntly.

“I know. Has he said anything to you?”

“He won’t talk about it. I asked if I could relieve him of some of his committee responsibilities and he wouldn’t hear of it. Truly, Headmaster, I am not sure what to do.” 

Williamson sighed. “I shall have to talk to him. His work hasn’t been affected yet, but at this rate it soon will be.” 

Mainly through the headmaster’s insistence, Poole was persuaded to visit a doctor who made a thorough evaluation and then advised a surgical referral. Poole announced that he wanted nothing to do with surgeons, and an icy glare and lecture from Angleton did not improve his temper. 

“Utter nonsense,” Thomas muttered. “The doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I believe he does, Thomas, and I suspect you don’t want to admit it. Both the headmaster and I have seen that you are not well, and so have the other teachers. I insist that you meet with the surgeon.”

“Well then, let it wait till the end of the school year.”

“No waiting. Thomas, everyone here is worried about you. Every student, every professor, the groundskeepers! Do you think we would not be willing to do whatever is necessary to cover for you if you are ill? Postponing treatment will not make things better. I shall take you there myself, if necessary.”

In the end Poole agreed, the surgery was soon scheduled and the result, unfortunately, was positive for cancer. The local surgeon recommended that Poole seek treatment with a specialist in London. Poole’s response was more stoic than Angleton had expected.

“I am not surprised, James. I just kept hoping that I would feel better.”

 _Humans,_ Angleton thought with exasperation. “Let us go and see the specialist, Thomas. Surely he can offer you something.” Coping with illness and decline was something he had not previously experienced. In fact Angleton was beginning to realize uneasily that his host body had not aged in the past five years. He had not gained weight, lost any more hair or experienced a loss of energy. As far as he could tell no one at the school had noticed as yet. 

Poole’s consultation with the specialist was somewhat helpful. Although the oncologist did not offer a cure, the first series of treatments in London did improve Poole’s fatigue. The local physician was able to arrange for treatment to be carried on locally, with advice from London, and Poole was able to return to work. 

 

That winter a flu epidemic swept through the school, affecting the faculty as well as students. Some parents were concerned enough to remove their sons from Sherborne, but the school remained open. As the flu spread Angleton became concerned that Poole would fall victim to infection, given his fragile state of health. After a long discussion he managed to convince his friend to step down from his administrative duties. “But only if you agree not to do it all yourself, James,” Poole insisted. “You cannot possibly handle everything that needs to be done.”

Angleton had to admit that this was correct. The next day when the headmaster fell ill with influenza the situation became even more acute. Although he kept shying away from the choice Angleton’s thoughts returned to Bill Grisby, who had remained annoyingly healthy and even cheerful throughout the epidemic. Although they were now on better terms than previously it would be an exaggeration to describe the two men as friends; Grisby had a tendency to insubordination, or perhaps an allergy to protocol, that was nothing short of irritating. Still, Angleton could imagine no better candidate to assist him. He was well organized and seemed to have become the leader of the younger professors at Sherborne. 

That afternoon at tea Angleton found Grisby reading a newspaper in the faculty meeting room with a plate of sandwiches at his side.

“Good afternoon, James, staying healthy?”

“I’m certainly trying to. At last count nine boys in my house are down with the flu. Is Nurse Edson holding up?”

“She’s tougher than all of us put together, but by the time this is over she will need a rest.” He passed the sandwiches over as the older man slumped into a chair. “Eat something, will you? You need to keep your strength up.”

Angleton took the food with thanks. “Anything interesting in the paper?”

“Nothing new, nothing good.” Grisby eyed him curiously for a moment. “What brings you here, James? Don’t tell me you dropped in to pass the time of day.”

“I’m entirely too busy for that. I need your help. The headmaster is sick and Dr. Poole is too unwell to step in. There are many administrative duties that need attention and I was hoping you could assist me.”

“So the Old Guard has condescended to ask the help of the New Guard?” Grisby rolled his eyes. “I’m flattered.”

Angleton reminded himself to keep a rein on his temper. “I don’t consider myself Old Guard. I have no patience for school politics and I’m not interested in power struggles. My only interest is to keep Sherborne stable and running until things improve.”

This explanation did not satisfy Grisby. “I’ve been here longer than you have, but you seem to have more influence than I do. In fact, I still have no idea what you’re doing here.” 

“Some days, neither do I,” Angleton answered dryly. Behind Grisby’s skepticism he could sense ambition, restlessness and a mind bubbling with ideas. A thought crossed his mind unexpectedly: _I could make something of this one..._ “I am not your rival, Bill. Not anyone’s. My position here is not due to favoritism. You asked me once who I was; let me tell you a bit more of my history. I am a maths teacher… who speaks fluent Russian. Why am I here? Not by choice, though I have come to appreciate Sherborne in many ways. I was assigned here, you may say to recuperate. To become accustomed to ordinary life. And that, my lad, is all you’ll get from me.” 

As Angleton spoke Grisby’s expression had become less sullen and more interested. “And you have an interest in, ah, Berlin.” He tapped the newspaper; Angleton gave a small nod.

“I will tell you also that Thomas has always recognized your ability, and I agree with him. It is time for this division in the faculty to end. The Old Guard and New Guard must pull together. Half the staff is sick and we have to find a way to divide their responsibilities. I would be very interested in any ideas you have to help.”

“The prefects,” Grisby answered immediately. “We can give them some of the day to day responsibilities in the houses. And I think we should call a planning meeting tonight with all faculty present, but first talk to the headmaster and find out what he needs.”

“An excellent idea. Do you have time now?” Grisby agreed, and they left for Williamson’s home. It took a great deal of persuasion and an intimidating glare from Angleton to convince the headmaster’s wife that the situation was urgent. That accomplished, they left fifteen minutes later armed with a list of duties and an agenda for that evening’s meeting.

“Sooner him than me, poor devil,” Grisby muttered as they left. This got a snort of amused agreement from Angleton. “He’ll be back to work as soon as he can manage it, no fear.”

The meeting went well. Angleton had decided to have Grisby chair the meeting and focused on assisting him; he was glad to see that Grisby’s friend John Bigelow, the teacher who had replaced Willis, was there and willing to help. Several of the older teachers there raised concerns but, with Angleton present to negotiate, an equitable distribution of duties was eventually hammered out. Angleton’s suggestion that Nurse Edson be offered two weeks’ leave when the students had recovered was well received. 

Poole was not present but Angleton reported to him as soon as the meeting was over. “Well done, James. It sounds as if the two of you are working together very well. It is rewarding to mentor someone, is it not?”

“Is that what I am doing?” Angleton responded with surprise. Then after a moment’s thought, “I suppose I am. And you are right, Thomas. Grisby did very well this evening and I believe his friend Bigelow will be a worthy assistant to him.” 

“To the future,” Thomas said, raising his teacup. 

“To the future,” James echoed.


	7. Year Six

**Year Six**

  
  
“The man has boundless energy,” Angleton grumbled. 

It was a stormy afternoon two weeks before the beginning of term. Poole’s illness had progressed to the point that he had given up his flat. The headmaster had arranged for Thomas to remain at Sherborne over the summer and Angleton and Grisby had visited frequently; Poole had recommended that Grisby take over as head of Abbey House for the new term while he stayed on to assist. As expected, Grisby had been delighted with the promotion and was full of new ideas for Abbey House. Thomas had listened attentively, approving many of Grisby’s suggestions but gently suggesting not changing too much at once. Angleton had had to step in more than once to restrain Bill’s enthusiasm so that Poole could rest.

“You state that as though it were a character flaw, James,” Poole smiled.

“He will do well, I have no concerns about that.”

“A new housemaster for a new age.”

“Times are changing, Thomas. Very quickly indeed.” Over the past year Germany had become increasingly bolder, beginning to rearm itself in a violation of the Treaty of Versailles. These political developments were alarming many British politicians, but of more concern to Q division were indications of a steady progression in the Ahnenerbe Society. 

One of the best British occult operatives in Germany had recently disappeared. His reports had indicated that the Society was well funded, becoming stronger and more secretive, and that Hilbert space was now their major focus of research. Q division had scheduled an urgent meeting and Angleton had been called back to London. 

Thomas noted James’ glance at his watch. “You’ll need to leave soon?”

“I can take a later train.” James spoke as if it were of no importance, but Thomas flashed him a grateful smile. 

“You have gone to a lot of trouble for me, James. I’m sorry to put you through all this. I know you must be busy –”

“It’s a pleasure for me to come. I would be here more often if I could, but I think that until term starts I will be kept busy in London.” Angleton had a premonition that this would be the last afternoon with his friend; he sensed that Thomas felt the same way. On an impulse he asked, “Do you remember our bet on the cricket game? That Wyatt would score?”

“I do indeed!” Poole’s face lit up. The two men sat, reminiscing, for another hour. At last Angleton realized that he had to leave. Reluctantly he said goodbye to Thomas.

“Take care of yourself. Are you sure you are not overworking?” He glanced around at the files lying on the desk.

“I am certain. I need to get everything in order and rough out the curriculum for the year.” Poole paused for a moment. “I will not finish out the term, James, but I can still leave proper records for whoever takes over for me. It’s part of the job. No one is indispensable, but this way there will be no interruption and the work can go on.”

Angleton nodded. “Thomas, I truly appreciate everything you have done for me. Thank you.” The two men shook hands and Angleton moved to the door. “I will see you in two weeks. You can send me a telegram at any time if you need anything.”

By the time Angleton returned, Poole’s illness had progressed yet further. He was moved to a rest home near the school and his teaching responsibilities had been divided among the English department faculty. Angleton and Grisby visited him frequently, as did many of the students. 

As he watched his friend’s decline Angleton had become painfully aware of the restrictions time placed on human existence. Time had never been a concern for the Eater of Souls, but life at Sherborne had taught him otherwise. He also had to admit that existence had become far more interesting, even challenging, since he had been bound to human form. This discovery gave him a new source of concern: he had known for some time that the geas that bound TEAPOT had finally worn off. 

As Angleton sensed his powers escalating he had become increasingly concerned. Self-control had become his primary focus, out of fear that he might destroy lives. This reaction surprised him: had he not longed for freedom? Why was he reluctant to claim it? It had been during the SOE meeting that he had realized: _I could kill everyone here._ This was not a pleasing thought for him but a frightening one. To avoid confronting this problem he had buried himself in work, but he was well aware that he would soon have to decide what he would do.

Brooding over these thoughts one afternoon, Angleton picked up the copy of Paradise Lost that Poole had lent him when he first came to Sherborne. Leafing through the well-read pages, he realized the character of Satan no longer held much interest for him. _The fool chose a miserable existence,_ he thought impatiently. His reading was interrupted by a knock.

“Enter.” Bill Grisby slipped into the room.

“James, I just heard that Thomas has pneumonia. He isn’t doing well.”

Angleton understood his somber look. “I will go immediately.”

“They may not let you see him,” Grisby cautioned.

_Let them try to stop me._ “I will go and hope for the best. Thank you, Bill.” 

  
  
A muttered geas served to distract the hospital staff from Angleton’s entrance to the ward. He quietly pulled a privacy curtain around the bed and then woke Poole, who was dozing.

Thomas blinked for a few moments and finally smiled. “James. I was hoping I would see you.” His sunken eyes and graying skin told Angleton that he had come just in time. 

“I came as soon as I heard you were ill. Thomas, it is time I told you the truth about myself. You deserve to know.”

In spite of his obvious pain and weakness, Poole’s eyes were still bright with interest. “Well, do go on, old chap.” 

“I know you have realized that I work for the government, but that is only part of it. The reason I couldn’t tell you before… do you know what a geas is?”

Poole frowned. “No, I’ve never heard the term.” 

“You can describe it as a curse or spell. Briefly, it restricts one’s actions. In my case it prevented me from telling you why I was here and what I was doing.” Angleton paused. “A geas also bound me into this body.”

Poole was trying to focus. “I think I must be hallucinating,” he muttered. 

“No, Thomas, you are not. What I told you is the truth. I know this sounds bizarre, but I did not originally come from Earth, or even this universe. I was called here by magic and bound into the body of a convicted criminal by my employers, for the purpose of serving them and defending this world. They call me ‘The Eater of Souls.’ Do you believe what I am saying, or do you need proof?”

Poole was shaking his head. “It’s shellshock, isn’t it? I always thought that must be it…”

“I am not delusional and this is not shellshock. Look at me, Thomas.”

Angleton let himself unmask. Only slightly and only for a moment, but the sight was enough to make Poole cry out. He was too weak to sit up but he instinctively tried to scrabble away. Angleton held up his hand.

“I am not here to hurt you, Thomas. If I had wanted to do that I would have done so long ago. When I first came to Sherborne I was controlled by the geas, but I dreamed of revenge. Had it been possible I would have killed anyone I could have, out of my anger at being compelled to this existence. But that is no longer the case. Sherborne changed my mind. The life here, the chance to teach, the principles the school stands for, all have convinced me that this is the proper place for me. But mostly the credit goes to you. I saw your kindness, your patience and your generosity every day. You exemplify the best of humanity. And that is why I came today, because I wanted you to know this.”

Poole gestured to the water on the bedside table. Angleton handed it to him and waited for him to drink. At length he muttered, “I know it must be true. Now that you have shown me. But James, you said you were controlled by this geas when you first came to the school. Do you mean –”

“Yes. The control has worn off. I am no longer compelled to do anything, Thomas. I am acting of my own free will now; no one knows this but you.” Angleton paused. “I was rereading part of Paradise Lost earlier today, and at last I have realized what you and Milton were trying to tell me.”

“What is that, dear boy?”

“It is better to serve in heaven than to reign in hell.” Angleton smiled briefly. “I shall defend England to the best of my ability. It is a worthwhile cause.”

“I’m glad you told me, James,” Poole whispered. “For the last six months I’ve been feeling that I wasted my life. If I made some sort of difference, if I served as an example to you… I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“Erroneous thinking, Thomas. Even if we had never met, think of what you have done for your students. Because of you, hundreds of young men understand how to think, understand the principles of honor and duty. They will need what they learned during and after the war. And not incidentally, they know more about English Literature than when they started.”

Thomas chuckled. “I certainly hope so. But I hate to think there’s nothing more I can do. I would give anything for some way to carry on. I wasn’t ready to stop teaching yet.” He closed his eyes and there was silence in the room for a minute.

“Thomas, it occurs to me that there is something more we could do if you wish it.” Angleton spoke reluctantly.

“What would that be?” 

“I told you that they call me the ‘Eater of Souls.’ I absorb the mental and psychic energies of those I feed on. Since bound to human form I have not needed to do this, but I have the ability to do so.”

Poole flinched. “You mean me? Why?”

“Again, I would not do this unless you agree. Let me explain why you might consider it. First, forgive me, but I must be blunt. You are in great pain and have not long to live. I could at least give you a quick and peaceful death. But more than that, you are a wonderful resource. Your teaching and management skills, your ability to work with others… If I take those skills and use them wisely, you would live on, in a sense. War is coming very soon now, and beyond the war there is a greater threat. Your help would be invaluable.” He watched his friend’s troubled face. “But you have already done enough. Forgive me. I should not have asked this of you –”

“Wait.” Poole held up a hand. “When would we have to do this?”

“Now. You have very little time left.”

“And nothing to lose?” Poole managed a smile. “You have always given me the unvarnished truth, James. I would like to thank you for that. And for your respect, if I have that as well.”

“You most certainly do. I respect you more than anyone I have ever met, or ever shall.” 

“At least I’m not afraid any more. I’m not afraid,” Poole repeated thoughtfully. “I never thought that death could come as a friend.”

“The universe is far beyond what you might think, Thomas. Believe me when I tell you that anything can happen. I do not claim that all of it is good, but it is all interesting and worthy of study. Come with me, and I will show you.” Poole reached out his hand and Angleton took it. “You agree, then?”

“I agree. What must I do?”

“Lie back and relax. This will be over in a moment.”

Poole was weakened by pain and illness; he did not resist. Angleton engulfed his psyche instantly. The body twitched for a moment and then was still. Angleton held the energy in his consciousness for a moment as he prepared to integrate Poole’s mind into his, but suddenly found himself fighting a desire to simply ingest it; _oh gods, it’s been so long and I am so hungry –_

  
  
It took a great effort but he managed to stop himself. Angleton slumped in the chair next to Poole’s bed, fists clenched with concentration. Forcing himself to relax, he sensed his friend’s apprehension and immediately sent him reassurance. _I am not going to hurt you._ Assimilating Thomas’s mind left him with a headache; the sensation was rather like trying to swallow a bite of food without chewing.

After a few minutes Angleton felt stable enough to open his eyes. The hospital ward seemed familiar in a way it had not been before; a message flashed across his mind. _It’s time for evening rounds. You must leave now, James._ He quickly closed his friend’s eyes and quietly left the ward.


	8. Chapter 8

As Angleton had hoped, acquiring Poole’s memories made it much easier for him to understand humans. It was rather like pouring water into a glass of sand: Thomas was able to fill in the gaps Angleton was missing. Nonverbal communications such as facial expressions and body language were now less difficult for him and even working with Grisby became easier. Before long Angleton and Grisby became an established team both on the Faculty Committee and as fellow housemasters. At one meeting a disgruntled member of the faculty even referred to James as “Grisby’s right hand man,” which both of them found amusing.

As time went on James began to meet with the headmaster on a weekly basis, as Thomas had formerly done. Realizing that Angleton had a gift for character assessment, Williamson soon asked him to assist on the faculty interview committee. His ability to weed out applicants with questionable histories gave Sherborne a strong and stable faculty that soon became the envy of prep schools around the country. Angleton was also able to reassure Mr. Williamson that Grisby was a worthy choice for head of the Faculty Committee when the question came up the year after Poole’s death. 

“He may wind up as Headmaster some day at this rate,” worried Williamson. 

“He may indeed.” Angleton shrugged. “He is flexible and forward looking. If Mr. Grisby can learn the value of diplomacy when dealing with the alumni association and the trustees, I believe he will do well. Times are changing, sir.”

“They certainly are,” Williamson sighed. “But you never seem to change at all, Dr. Angleton. I am very glad you are here.” 

His words, though well meant, gave James cause for concern; it was rapidly becoming clear to him that he would not be able to remain at Sherborne much longer. That evening, after long thought, he left a letter for his handler in the drop box on the school grounds. Soon afterwards the trustee who had made arrangements to send TEAPOT to Sherborne years ago made an unscheduled visit to the school.

“Ah, Major Fuller,” Williamson greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to look up my protégé, Mr. Williamson. I understand Dr. Angleton is doing well?”

Williamson gave a review so glowing that Fuller blinked in surprise. “I have been very thankful for your recommendation, Major. Dr. Angleton is indeed an asset to Sherborne. I will admit that when he first came to us, I wasn’t sure… but he has truly grown into the position. His committee work is exemplary and he certainly knows his subject. Our maths department has benefited from his influence and he has offered tutoring and advanced classes for those who are interested. Several of our students have gone on to graduate programs in mathematics based on his recommendations. Would you like to sit in on one of his classes?”

Now extremely curious, Fuller agreed. As he and the headmaster entered the classroom Angleton did not pause in his delivery of the lesson, though Fuller saw a flash of recognition in his eyes. The two men stood quietly in the back of the room observing both the students and their teacher. Fuller was impressed by Angleton’s command of his material as well as of the classroom. The students appeared to have prepared well for the lesson. Their respect for their teacher was obvious; though no boy dared to disturb the focus of the lecture, Angleton encouraged questions and clearly explained the problems he had posted on the board. 

As the class was dismissed Fuller moved to the front of the room. “Well done, Dr. Angleton. The headmaster has just been giving me an excellent report of your work and I can see why. How long have you been here now?”

“I’m just starting my tenth year, sir. It’s a pleasure to see you.” The two men shook hands and Williamson left the room with a vague excuse. “Shall I take you round the school?”

Fuller accepted and for the next twenty minutes Angleton gave what was to all appearances a casual tour of the grounds. Fuller invoked a geas to ensure that their conversation would not be overheard. Angleton was glad to answer his leader’s questions about his teaching activities at Sherborne but the conversation soon moved to his work with the SOE.

“I have serious concerns regarding the Ahnenerbe, sir. It’s clear to me that their research is directed toward warfare and they have no idea of the danger they are dealing with. If they succeed in opening a gate to another dimension they will be freeing something they cannot control.”

Angleton continued to list his concerns, with the other man asking his opinion on various Q division issues, until they found themselves on the cricket field. They both sat in the stands and Major Fuller asked the question he had come for:

“Your progress has exceeded my expectations, Dr. Angleton. Mr. Williamson has listed your many contributions to Sherborne, but I think the time has come for you to use your gifts elsewhere. Would you agree?”

Angleton stared into the distance, reminded of his previous conversation in the cricket stands with Thomas several years before. “Yes, sir. Sherborne has done at least as much for me as I have done for it. Students do not remain here indefinitely. When they complete their course of study they move on, and it’s time for me to do the same.”

Fuller gave him a long look and then nodded. “The pub is open. Let us go to lunch. There are several new projects at SOE which I would like to discuss with you.”

Duncan Wyatt, the maths prodigy, had confirmed Angleton’s estimate of his abilities; when he finished his term at Sherborne Angleton had helped him to enroll at Cambridge. 

Shortly after Germany declared war he walked into Angleton’s study, looking excited.

“Good afternoon, boy. Where did you spring from?”

“I heard you were leaving Sherborne, sir. I came down from Cambridge today to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I want to do what you do. And I don’t mean teach.” Wyatt met his mentor’s glare with a challenging look. “Your thesis, sir. I read it.”

“It’s classified, boy. It’s been locked away for at least two years.”

“I read it anyway. Not going to tell you how I found it. The boffins in the Maths Department at Cambridge are working on some sort of information storage machine that’s based on your work. I haven’t heard a lot about it but I know the government is involved. I want to be part of that project, or anything similar you think I could help with.”

“You think it’s just a matter of ask and have? Even I’m not part of it.”

“Sir, I’d be useless as a soldier. I’m willing to fight, do whatever I can… but I think I can serve England better if I work with you.” Wyatt spoke simply but honestly. “Can you use me or not?”

James looked at him for a long moment. “Yes, boy. We could use you. But believe me when I tell you that you don’t know what you’re getting into. We should not even be having this conversation.”

“Then we aren’t having it. But hypothetically, what should I do?”

“Hypothetically, you leave this to me. I will pass the word along. They will contact you, not the other way round. You must be patient; speak to no one about this. Carry on with any plans that you have already made. You may never hear anything, but if you do, I expect it would be in the next one to two months.”

With the benefit of Angleton’s recommendation Wyatt was soon recruited to the SOE. At first he was assigned to the codebreaking project in Bletchley Park; as the war progressed Angleton, increasingly concerned about the Nazis’ occult weapons program, requested that his protégé be transferred to Q division (which by that time had been nicknamed “The Laundry”). Wyatt’s talent was matched only by his recklessness; despite Angleton’s warnings he persisted in carrying out calculations at a dangerous rate. A few years after the war his name was engraved on a memorial tablet at Sherborne, next to Giles Holland, his former classmate. Lieutenant Holland had died in 1943 during the Tunisian campaign; Dr. Duncan Wyatt was one of the first documented cases of K Syndrome.

Although Angleton never returned to Sherborne he continued to follow the progress of many of his former students as well as the faculty. He was not surprised when Bill Grisby did in fact become headmaster of the school in 1947. About this time Angleton requested Fuller’s assistance with a project he had long been considering; Fuller agreed and took formal charge of the negotiations with Sherborne, in addition to contributing financially. A few months later the Thomas Poole Scholarship Fund was established, and Angleton (who spent very little of his salary) continued to fund it anonymously for many years.

“A fitting tribute to your friend’s memory,” Fuller commented the day Sherborne announced the opening of the fund. “I believe you said he helped you in your early days at the school?”

“He did, sir. And not only me, but many others. He was probably the most selfless person I have met.” A flash of emotion crossed Angleton’s mind as he spoke, a feeling of gratitude he knew came from Poole. _You deserve much more than this,_ he replied. _You have not been forgotten._

Angleton’s Sherborne training, with Poole’s input, continued to serve him well for many decades to come. The postwar period was a rocky one for the Laundry, as the SOE was dissolved and gave way to MI6. Q Division began to shift from a loosely associated group of necromancers into an organized government bureaucracy; Angleton served as a stabilizing influence during this transition, and found his responsibilities beginning to increase especially as many of the older members retired or left. His Sherborne training made it natural to him to mentor new agents. 

One of his early successes, Esther Banks, had been brought into the SOE in 1948 when her research caught the attention of an operative; her doctoral project was permanently derailed. Ignoring her mathematical skills, Laundry management had assigned her to secretarial work and Angleton had requested her services on several occasions, as she was good at her job. On this particular day, however, he found himself unable to concentrate on the brief he was drafting due to the chaos of her emotions; it was like trying to work with a ringing fire alarm in the room. Angleton glanced at her in irritation followed by concern. He put down his paperwork with a sigh. 

“Talk to me, girl.”

She was too distracted to hear him for a moment, then glanced up. “I’m sorry, Doctor. What did you say?”

“Don’t kill yourself. It would be a tremendous waste.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she began, but as Angleton’s eyes bored into her she slumped in her chair. “Why shouldn’t I end my life if that’s my best choice?” she asked defiantly. “My career, if you can call it that, is a disaster. I was working on a doctorate and I wound up here as a secretary. And then I met someone who made me happy for the first time in a long time – ”

“ – and he left you for someone else,” Angleton finished. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. I am a necromancer after all. You have abilities which should not be wasted, and I agree that we are not making good use of them. I can help you.”

“Help me how?”

“I need an assistant, you need additional training. If you want a more exciting life, I can certainly provide that for you,” Angleton added dryly. “Are you afraid of danger? There will be significant risk involved if you work with me.”

“The way I’m feeling now I would welcome it,” Banks answered recklessly.

“Very well. I shall speak with your idiot manager and make it clear that you report to me now. Keep two bags packed at all times, one here, one at home. We may be leaving on short notice.”

“Leaving for where?”

James shrugged: “Anywhere, girl. Anywhere they need us to go.”

The Banks/Angleton partnership worked remarkably well. As Esther’s field skills improved they were assigned to RANCID MOON, CAPRA SCOURGE (a chupacabra infestation) and many other projects over the years. Eventually she became director of the Dunwich teaching program; by the end of her career Esther Banks had become the first female Auditor in the Laundry. Unlike other operatives of the time Angleton selected his trainees on ability alone, and though at first the directors questioned many of his choices, his success record spoke for itself. By the 1970s the Laundry membership was far more diverse than other branches of the government. 

Even after Angleton’s promotion from Field Ops he continued to seek out able recruits. “Someone needs to separate the competent from the incompetent. Most of these people wouldn’t know what to do with a low-level summoning if their lives depended on it. Which they would,” he complained to Andy Newstrom. “You know what I’m looking for, Andy. Go out and find it for me.”

Nearly a year later:

“I think I have found someone worth training, Michael. The first promising candidate in some time. It’s early days yet, but…”

“This is the young man who got himself involved in the Jotun Infovore incident?”

“Indeed.”

Dr. Michael Armstrong had joined the Laundry in the 1970s. Musically talented, he was given custody of the white violin; over the next several years Angleton had observed him closely, as he did all those assigned to the instrument. Though he was not in charge of Armstrong’s training he was impressed with what he saw. Armstrong’s quiet manner hid a commanding personality and over the years he steadily advanced through the ranks of Q Division. When one day the newly elected Senior Auditor walked into his office, sat down and explained that he would be James’ new supervisor, Angleton was not really surprised. 

“Tell me more, James. What is it about the boy that impressed you?”

“Well, it certainly isn’t his wardrobe,” Angleton replied dryly. “He is young, needs seasoning, but there is more to him than I originally thought. He’s a fast thinker – figured out the ice giant’s plan, then managed to fizzle a thermonuclear device in spite of a shortage of both time and resources. Then the, ah, regrettable incident with management getting hold of SCORPION STARE. I was rather hoping Andy Newstrom would put the pieces together on that one after young Howard brought back the evidence, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

Armstrong shook his head. “I’m still not entirely happy with your resolution of that particular incident, although I agree their behavior was criminally reckless. Never mind. Go on with young Howard.”

“He has a strong sense of loyalty. An unusual combination with a mind like his; loyalty and logic don’t necessarily go together, as you know. It isn’t just that he rescued Dr. O’Brien. That could have been infatuation. But he stayed behind to disarm the bomb and went back to bring out Captain Barnes. If that isn’t a test of character, I don’t know what is. Generally speaking, he performs well in the field: I checked with the Artists’ Rifles and I’ve had good feedback from them. Assuming he continues to do well and doesn’t get himself killed, I believe he has DSS potential. When he gets to that point I’ll familiarize him with the Memex and my records.”

Angleton was well aware of Armstrong’s gentle ruthlessness, but it never occurred to him that the Senior Auditor might have other plans for his assistant. Armstrong had recently recruited Iris Carpenter to a project, CONSTITUENCY, known only to him and the Board. It was Angleton’s report that made Armstrong decide to assign Howard to Iris, asking her to evaluate Bob’s character and capabilities and to report back to him to assess whether Bob would be a good selection for the project. Unfortunately for Bob, he was found all too suitable.

Angleton blamed himself for the Fuller Memorandum debacle, though Armstrong backed him in the resulting enquiry. James was grateful for the support, though he remained unaware of the Auditor’s project. His sense of guilt over Bob’s possession and injuries was such that Poole, usually quiescent at the back of his mind, attempted to reassure him. For once James did not find this helpful. 

_The boy can handle this power, given time. He is recovering. Be patient with him, James._

_I don’t know how much time I have left – we have left – to teach him,_ Angleton responded impatiently.

But Thomas’ prediction was correct and Angleton began to feel vindicated when his protégé was promoted to Mahogany Row. “Bit of a loose cannon,” Lockhart grumbled after the hearing. 

“He gets results,” Angleton retorted, “even the Nazgul admitted as much. And you can’t deny he passed your character test. We can trust him to make the right choices. I suggest you try him with additional assignments. Give him his head, see where he goes.”

Bob’s performance in External Assets not only put Lockhart at ease but allowed Angleton to spend more time on documentation, creating files and Memex notations to which only Bob would have access. As he worked his mind filled with memories of field operations in Belize, Syria, Morocco and many other places, all of which would need to be monitored. 

_There will be plenty to keep him busy after I’m gone,_ he thought wearily. 

_You deserve a peaceful rest. Not much longer now._

_You have earned one as well, Thomas. When the time comes we will be ready._

When it did come Angleton was more than ready, and in his final moments he heard the reassuring voice more clearly than he had in years.

_“Well done, James!”_


End file.
